


Eyes Do Things Fingers Can't

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Crashtestskater for the 2014 Easter Egg challenge.  She wanted spring things as it's still winter in Canada.</p><p>A morning after a night before</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Do Things Fingers Can't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crashtestskater](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=crashtestskater).



“Napoleon?” His name was murmured whisper sweet, like that of a shy spring breeze into his ear, tickling it.

“Go ‘way,” Napoleon answered, trying to brush it away.  He didn’t want to let go of his dream.  In it, they were together, laughing and in each other’s arms.  Illya wasn’t just his partner, he was Napoleon’s lover, tender, capable, and perfect.  Napoleon wanted to hold onto the dream forever.

 “Napoleon…”  His name was half sung this time, and begrudgingly Napoleon managed to get one eye cracked open.  A pair of blues eyes were studying him.  There was a sense of mischief in them and there was something else.  For a moment, a thought raced through his mind, iridescent and tremulous as a soap bubble.  It held him, suspended breathless, for a long moment, then the bubble burst and it was gone as the last bits of his dream faded away.  

“What?”  He tried to take the edge off the words, but his head and his lower back hurt and his brain was fuzzy.  “What time is it?”

“Early.”

“You woke me up early?  I was having a great dream.”

“No, I woke you up on time.  It’s just relatively early to the day’s point of view.”  Still, those eyes held him mesmerized.  “We have two hours before our plane leaves.”

“Two… hours?  How is that possible?  We just went to bed a few minutes ago.”  The smile that answered him was brilliant and Napoleon realized it hadn’t been a dream.  They had toppled into the bed and made love.  He remembered Illya’s cries, his own demands, the feeling of Illya on him and in him.

“You may have only fallen asleep two hours ago, but we’ve been in bed for nearly fifteen hours.”

That sent a shock through him that made him suddenly sit up.  “Fifteen hours?  But Waverly…”

“Understood when I told him how sick you were.  You might want to mention that in your report how you ate that tainted meat and ended up with a mild case of food poisoning.”  Now the eyes twinkled warm and laughing.  “I thought perhaps it would give us some time to rest up.  I made reservations for a flight later this afternoon.   Home is looking pretty good at the moment.”  Illya stood up and walked to the window, standing just to one side of it.  “In fact, I would say that spring in Manhattan is looking even better this morning.”

Napoleon flopped back on the bed and winced at the jab of pain in his head.  “I feel as if I’ve been dragged behind a truck.  Are you always that enthusiastic the morning after?”

“Well, it had been a while and it was, while a surprise, a great delight.  I wanted to make sure that, if it was my only chance, I made it a good one.  Here, drink this.”  A cup of something murky brown was thrust into Napoleon’s hands.  The eyes crinkled at the corners.

Locking eyes with Illya, Napoleon drained the cup and then gasped and coughed.  “What was that?”

“I asked the same thing. They tell me it’s coffee, but any resemblance is strictly accidental.”  Fingers, rough from the life they led, tipped his chin up and for a moment, Napoleon thought they were going to kiss.  He hoped they would, but Illya merely smiled again.

“You seem to be in a very chipper mood today.”

“Considering the night we had, you would deny me this?”

“After the night we had, I think it is safe to assume I will deny you nothing.”

“Is there a future for us, Napoleon?”

“I don’t know, Illya.  I’d like there to be, but considering our lives are measured in minutes and hours as opposed to months and years.  I think –“

“We’d better take what we can?”

“It’s not taken if it’s given freely.”

An image from his dream exploded, then dissolved before he could even grasp a thread of it. It was not a dream, not anymore.  The look those eye cast in his direction made his heart stop.  They said everything and they said nothing.  Then one eye gave a long slow wink and Napoleon got the distinct impression that his world, like spring, was busting out all over.

 

 

 


End file.
